


line notes

by TabbyKattene



Category: Drag-On Dragoon | Drakengard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Theatre, F/F, Happy Ending, Modern Era, human!intoners, it's fine it's fine, no flower because we don't need that menace in our enemies to lovers fluff, oh and yknow a little bit of a tragedy just to spice things up, we're just here for two things: zero being awful and five being nasty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:02:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27039169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TabbyKattene/pseuds/TabbyKattene
Summary: There was a saying among those techies, stage crew, and creative staff. Theatre, it was said, would be better if the actors weren’t always messing things up.Logically, this was untrue. The earliest theatre consisted of almost nothing but actors.However, the earliest theatre sucked.
Relationships: Five/Zero (Drag-On Dragoon)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	line notes

“This is the first rule,” said Zero, and she said it with a scowl on her face that could not be misconstrued for anything but serious and death threat-y. “You throw away the line notes, you die. Any questions?”

Not one of the five actors on stage raised her hand, and Zero was almost pleased (though she wouldn’t show it. Actors could smell weakness). Most of them looked serious, the kind of people who understood what they were doing here. The one on the end made her pause. She was a bosomy blonde bombshell with tits that may well have been bigger than whatever talent had caused Michael to cast her. That wasn’t the remarkable thing about her, though. The remarkable thing about her was her easy, roguish smile that was out of place on someone being lectured about the many ways their stage manager was likely to kill them if they fucked up.

Zero tried hard to ignore it. She really did. But she found herself gravitating to the blonde actress as she spoke. “This is the second rule. If you still _need_ line notes when we’re off book, you die.”

Did her smile get _wider?_

“And the third rule. If you’re ever late to a rehearsal… or _not significantly early,_ which is as good as late… you die.”

There was a low rumble of a half-laugh behind Zero. She didn’t turn, didn’t look at Michael, who was likely staring at her in that not-quite-disapproving way of his. “Zero,” he said, and it might have been a warning, but it wasn’t a very serious one.

“Fourth rule. Food or drink other than water in the theatre? Guess what! You get to die for it! And don’t even _think about_ smuggling vodka in a Nalgene, I know how to tell.” Michael all but forgotten, Zero was back to staring at the busty blonde. She seemed the most likely to test this. 

“And fifth rule. I’m not your goddamn secretary. Score your own fucking script. If you come to me two days before tech asking me for my notes, you’ll-”

“Die?” asked the blonde with an innocence that Zero did not believe for a goddamn _minute,_ some actor _she_ must be.

“No,” said Zero, just to be testy. “I make you spray paint styrofoam in the scene shop without a mask or an open window.”

The blue haired actor raised her hand. “But wouldn’t that make us-”

“ _Yes, it will kill you,_ but at least then we get some _use_ out of your sorry existence.” Zero sighed. 

The blonde girl chuckled.

* * *

There was a saying among those techies, stage crew, and creative staff. Theatre, it was said, would be better if the actors weren’t always messing things up.

Logically, this was untrue. The earliest theatre consisted of almost nothing _but_ actors.

However, the earliest theatre sucked.

Greek theatre may have been a pretty thing to study with its masks and movement and choruses, but it lacked something that Zero craved, and that was needless, senseless violence. It was always shown _offstage,_ sometimes described in detail but never shown. There was no need for stage combat or choreography or anything else that could keep a girl moving. And oh, did Zero want to move.

As much as she wanted her actors to make this show as easy as possible. 

* * *

On the second day of rehearsal, Zero caught the blonde actress eating an ice cream sandwich in the green room.

“What the fuck,” she said, “are you doing?”

The blonde looked at Zero. “I’m eating an ice cream sandwich. In the green room.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to-”

“You told me not to eat in the theatre,” said the blonde, and finished her sandwich and licked the creamy white drippings from her long, long fingers. “Mmm,” she sighed as she finished. “This isn’t the theatre.”

Zero opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “A _dairy_ product? Really? Right before you go on stage?”

She blinked, again too-innocent. “Do you have a problem with milk, my dear stage manager?” And she- god- she moved her chest discreetly enough that her breasts seemed to jiggle and bounce without much help at all. It couldn’t be anything but intentional.

Zero growled. “Sixth rule,” she said. “You flirt with me when I’m yelling at you, and you die.”

* * *

It was the fourth day of rehearsal when Michael didn’t show up.

Zero held the start, waiting for him, for some text or email or phone call- anything to explain why he was late. He was never less than _early to being early._ He was the very reason Zero took punctuality so seriously. He was the very reason she took anything so seriously.

She got the call half an hour after rehearsal was set to begin.

She did not break down in front of the cast, who watched her as she clutched her mobile phone almost tight enough to break it.

* * *

“I’m your director now,” she said on the fifth day. “Lucky fucking you! And to make matters worse, I’m still your stage manager too. So don’t let me down. Or I’ll-”

“Kill us,” said one of the usually quite quiet and compliant actors. Like the busty girl (god. Would Zero have to learn their names now?), she was a blonde, but unlike the busty girl she was usually almost tolerable.

“Thank you,” said Zero with a slight snort. “So I guess I have to do those weird exercises and like, get to know you and shit. We can have some grand revelations, just like in _A Chorus Line_ , and we can all go home being stupidly aware of our own mortality.”

The five women on stage stared at her blankly. “Forget it,” said Zero. “Let’s just start with some blocking. You with the stupid flower hairclip. What’s your name?”

“Me?” said the bluenette (Zero hated herself for even thinking the word) “I’m-”

“No wait. What’s your character’s name?”

“It’s-”

“Never mind. You’re all getting numbers.” She waved the girl off and started from the left. “One, Two, Three, Four, Five.”

The bosomy blonde- Five- smirked. “Because you’re Zero?”

“Zero happens to be a longstanding family name, not technically a number, and furthermore, none of your fucking business. New rule. Don’t interrupt the director when she’s talking, or-”

She waited for the resounding chorus of “you’ll die,” but it didn’t come.

“Good,” said Zero, “you’re learning.”

* * *

True to form, the first one to bring in a reusable water bottle full of clear liquid was Five. Up until her, the actors had all been using single-use ocean-killing plastic from the vending machines. If it had been anyone else bringing in the reusable sort, Zero would have thought that they were being typical actors… all full of show, claiming to be a savior of a dying world, desperately trying to convert others to a cause they’d forget in a month. 

But Five had the smug look of someone trying to get away with something, not the smug look of someone who decided to be a vegan out of the blue.

Zero grabbed the water bottle. “Nice fucking try,” she said. 

“Mmm?” said Five. “What? Do you think I was a naughty girl and brought vodka in? Oh no… I forgot you told me you had your ways of telling. What, pray tell, are those ways?”

With a roll of her eyes, Zero took a swig.

It was water.

She swallowed with great disappointment and wiped her mouth on her sleeve before shoving the water bottle back at Five. “Fine. Whatever you were planning, you succeeded. But don’t think you will again.”

Five giggled (actually giggled! Like it was a game!) and took the bottle, taking a dainty and calculated sip. As she pulled back, she examined the wide mouth of the bottle. “Oh no, my dear stage manager. Looks like we shared an indirect kiss… and maybe some backwash.”

“Shut up and be on stage in three minutes,” said Zero, and she stormed off. 

* * *

This is the burden of the stage manager: you arrive before everyone else, and you leave after everyone else. 

This was usually no problem. Actors did not like to be on time, at least not in Zero’s experience, and for all that they would preach and preen and claim they loved their craft, they loved nothing more than to be _done_ with it. It could take them two hours to become even the simplest of characters and two seconds to become themselves once again.

That probably made sense, given any thought, but Zero was not prone to thought when she was in a bad mood, which was basically all the time.

It was after the ninth day of rehearsal that Zero cut the lights throughout the Cathedral Theatre one by one, and exited into the green room where Mikhail waited.

Michael’s son was not at all like him (but might be one day. _But_ wasn’t now, which was what was important). He was, first and foremost, annoying. Second, he was small. Third, he was needy, especially with his babysitter having to drop him off and leave him alone in the theatre due to a slight emergency. “Zero!” he exclaimed as soon as he saw her, ignoring the obvious exhaustion on her face. “Zero, did you have a fun day at the theatre?”

“No,” she said.

“Oh,” said Mikhail, and his face fell. “Daddy always used to say that-”

“I know what he always used to say, and he’s going to say it again.” There was a hint of warning in her voice.

“I know,” said Mikhail with all of the confidence of a child who wasn’t being told the entire truth. “He always _does_ say that even when you get tired or stressed or angry or frustrated or something, you’ve got to find the fun in it or else it won’t be fun anymore.”

“Yes,” said Zero, “typically when you’re not having fun, you’re not having fun. Dummy.”

Mikhail frowned deeply, seeming to concentrate. “I think,” he said finally, “that maybe sometimes it’s hard to find fun in things and you’ve got to-”

“Aren’t you just the cutest?” crooned Five as she stepped out of the darkness and into the lobby.

Zero froze. “What are you doing here?”

Five smiled and straightened. “I was at rehearsal. Did you forget about me so soon, dear Zero?” she said, pouting a little. The pout didn’t reach her eyes- they sparkled like gems. 

“You were dismissed fifteen minutes ago. I walked through and turned out all the lights myself. Where were you?”

“Oh, around.”

 _“Oh, around,”_ Zero mocked. She looked to Mikhail, then back to Five, then back to Mikhail. “You never saw this, by the way. Or else.”

“Saw what?” She winked. 

Zero didn’t get it. “The kid.”

“The what?”

“The _kid_ , you daft bimbo slut.”

Five gasped. “Zero! You’d call me that? In front of a child? Who doesn’t seem to exist?”

“I exist,” said Mikhail quite unhelpfully, and Five began to laugh with a heartiness that made her chest bounce again, and Zero half-growled and half-sighed. With perhaps a little too much force, she took Mikhail’s hand and marched him out of the theatre.

* * *

Five was true to her word, and Zero might have wondered why she was true to that when she was always breaking rules. Then she remembered Five never _did_ break the rules. She just came infuriatingly close.

The first time Five got a line note was more proof of that. She didn’t look at the short paper, merely shoved it in her pocket. Zero bit her tongue to prevent a warning. Let her do it. It was easier to call an actor out on continual missed lines than on an ignored set of line notes.

So, she held off. Waiting to pounce like a warrior.

The next rehearsal, Five was line-perfect. It was a week before they were meant to be off book.

* * *

Zero called Micheal when they were halfway through the rehearsal period. 

_Hi, you’ve reached Michael Drakengard. I’m not available to take your call right now. If you could leave your name and number at the beep, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can._

Even his voicemail was more put together and professional than she could ever hope to be.

* * *

It was rehearsal number fifteen, and it was the Equity-mandated break time. 

Zero didn’t care much for breaks. Breaks meant socializing beyond what she had to do for her job, or getting on Twitter to complain about the actors (which was less fun since One had found her account and started Speaking To Her about it), or checking texts to make sure that Mikhail’s aunt-slash-temporary-babysitter Gabriella wasn’t having problems. Normally, she went over her call book. Sometimes, she paced.

As she called for the break, the actors all seemed to head into the green room. Four and Two chattered idly as they did.

They were almost there when Five turned and ran back, leaping from the stage and into the audience before coming to stand daintily near Zero’s messy and elaborate setup. “Hi there, my darlingest stage manager and director,” she purred.

“What?” asked Zero.

“What do you mean, what?” She batted her eyelashes. “You looked lonely.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re not a good actor. Is that why you’re stuck here behind the scenes? I don’t mind. I like being one of the only people to look at you. I’d get terribly jealous if I had to share my lovely stage manager with the entire audience.”

Zero rolled her eye. “Fuck you,” she said creatively.

Five blinked in fake surprise. “You mean one of your strict, strict rules isn’t about how there’s no showmance allowed?”

“For there to be a rule saying no showmance allowed, there’d have to be a chance it’d happen in the first place. Fuck off, Five. But not too far. Break’s over in three and a half minutes.”

“I can go fast.”

“Not that fast,” Zero answered automatically, then made a face. “And no fucking thank you. Are you doing some method acting that requires you to be gross, or is this your natural state?”

“Natural state, I’m afraid,” she said with too much cheer, and leaned in closer. “I could be persuaded to change. Within reason.”

“Ugh.”

With another bat of her eyes, Five settled into the chair next to Zero. “Are you really going to tell me to go if I have questions?”

 _Yes,_ Zero wanted to say. _I am, I will._ Instead, she said “Script.”

“Pardon me?”

“Let me see your script, and then I’ll decide if I’m going to answer your questions.”

Five reached into her shirt- _“What?”_ Zero intoned- and pulled out a script from underneath her breasts. She handed it out to Zero, infuriatingly casual as though she had done nothing even slightly out of the ordinary. That was even more disarming than the act itself. Zero stared at the script, then at Five’s chest, then at the script, then back to-

“Want a picture? It’ll last longer,” chirped Five.

“The expression is _take_ a picture, moron.”

The too-innocent tilt to Five’s head was more bad acting, a play at innocence. “Why would you want to take a picture yourself when I could send you some in high definition? I get them done with my headshots once a year.”

“Gross.” Zero yanked the script from Five’s hands and opened it to a random page, expecting to find it blank. There was half an insult already formulating on her tongue, ready to lash out at Five for having questions when she hadn’t been doing her work. 

Instead, she found the page covered in dark pencil marks, scribbled neatly in the margins. Everything was properly scored. Perhaps even better than Zero’s own stage manager binder was, not that she’d admit it. Annoyed, she shoved the script back at Five. “Fine. You pass. What are your questions?”

“Oh! I don’t have any.”

“What?”

“I just wanted to know what you’d do if I _did._ ” Five smiled wickedly, and before Zero could stop her, she leaned over and pecked Zero right on the cheek, her lips lingering slightly too long to be a simple greeting. “Thank you, my dearest director. It’s about time to start up again, isn’t it?”

Zero couldn’t answer. If she said something, she was going to explode. _Michael will be so upset if I_ actually _kill the actors. If he comes to opening night and someone’s a corpse, I won’t hear the end of it for months,_ she tried to tell herself, but the annoyance was like one of those goddamn trick birthday candles that refused to go out that Michael had thought would be cute for her twenty-first birthday. The second she snuffed it, she looked at Five’s smug, gorgeous face and it burst back to life rather dramatically.

“Get on stage,” she finally managed to say.

To her credit, Five seemed to know better than to respond. Against her, though, was that Zero was fairly convinced her silence was because she knew she had already won once again.

* * *

There were three truths about theatre that they never told you in theatre classes.

The first one was that shows often came together all at once after seemingly disastrous periods where everything seems miserable. One day- usually during tech, or if you’re especially unfortuitous, on the first performance- your clumsy actors and bad technicians understand everything as if by magic. The show is a masterpiece, or at least a masterpiece by comparison to the previous trainwreck.

The second truth was that a well trained actor had none brain cells, left beef. You didn’t become an actor because you were a genius. If you were smart, you’d be in a career field that was stable and perhaps required you to do math. All that theatre required was that you had a body that was relatively usable. Zero had taken a few acting classes (though could not nearly call herself completely trained) and how she understood it, the more usable your body was, the better. Actors were just jocks but more pretentious, and Zero had never liked jocks.

The third truth about theatre was that politeness was different, and this was something Zero appreciated. There was no small talk, no dancing around subjects. Working in theatre required you to jump into sensitive topics, to get to brass tacks. Last names were rarely used. Handshakes weren’t popular. That was fine with Zero; it was the replacements that still caught her uneasy. Even when you barely knew someone, you could greet them with a hug.

Or a kiss on the cheek.

There were three truths about theatre that you learned as you went, and Zero was beginning to think that Five had never learned them, because she was good at her job, suspiciously smart, and her standard little greeting lingered just a bit too long on Zero’s skin.

Worse, it lingered in Zero’s mind.

* * *

“Eighth rule,” said Zero, two rehearsals before tech. “No showmances allowed.”

The small cast looked at one another. Undoubtedly, they were all trying to figure out which two of them were fucking on the green room sofa. Even Five didn’t seem particularly like she understood- her eyes kept darting between Four and One. It was almost a particularly astute moment for Five, actually; Zero had noticed the way the Four pined for One as well. She felt a little unease disappear. Yes, she could stop feeling weird about this rule now, because it wasn’t for _her,_ it was to prevent Four from making messy choices.

Zero let the quiet linger for a moment, let people draw their own conclusions.

Perhaps she lingered a bit too long, because Five, who had seemed not to suspect a thing, turned her gaze Zero’s way and smiled.

* * *

News about Michael came at the worst time it possibly could- the night before tech. Zero handled the news with as much grace as she had it in her to give. Yes, she understood that the surgery had risk, all surgeries did. Yeah, she knew she was his emergency contact… no, it wasn’t a mistake, his wife was gone and Zero and Michael had been best friends for years, god, she was his kid’s godmother for Christ's sake. And on that note, yes, she’d take the kid in permanently if the unspeakable happened, but it wasn’t going to happen. Zero hadn’t ever considered herself a hopeful person, but she wondered if her pessimism throughout life had simply been to save all of her faith for this exact moment.

When Michael came out of the surgery they said might wake him up, he had better be grateful, Zero decided. She had run his show, taken care of his kid, and even brought him flowers. 

Okay, so the flowers were a bad idea because even in a coma he was massively allergic, which made his hatred of them a lot more understandable in context.

Miracle upon miracles, Michael’s surgery was the day after Zero signed her consent for it, so she went into tech week with twice as much coffee. She was no actor- she could not hide her nerves. But she _could_ blame any jitters and grouchiness on the caffeine.

The day seemed to pass in a blur up until exactly 2:45 PM, which was when Michael was scheduled to go into surgery. She called for a break at 2:50. 

“Why so soon?” said sound engineer Dito, sitting next to her in the booth that looked out upon the proscenium stage. “We just had a break half an hour ago.”

“We’re a mess,” said Zero. “Everyone… every… ugh, everyone just take a walk, clear your head, drink water or whatever. Do drugs if that helps, I don’t fucking care, just take fifteen.”

“Fifteen?” said Two from down below, eyes so wide that Zero could see the difference even from where she was sitting. “As in fifteen whole minutes?”

“Did I stutter?”

“A little,” said Three.

“It’s the caffeine. Now scram.”

As everyone scrambled off, Zero practically threw the chair out of the booth in her haste to get outside. She could hear Dito calling her name but ignored him. In her hands, she clutched her cell phone, rubbing her thumb against the screen. She wanted news, and she wanted it now. The question was, who to call? Michael was five minutes into something that would take probably an hour or more. Surgeons probably didn’t take calls in the middle of operations. 

She ran down the stairs and out the theatre door, emerging right next to a bench. It was there that she sat and tried so hard to breathe.

“Zero?” 

Zero didn’t so much as lift her head. She knew who it was, who it always was. “You’ve never had a sense of timing, have you? I’m busy.”

“With what?” asked Five, sitting down next to Zero.

“I didn’t invite you out here.”

“It’s a public seat,” said Five accurately, her voice not soft but somehow still devoid of hardness. 

“Fuck you,” said Zero.

“Now hardly seems the time, you said it yourself.”

There was no response for that, none that wouldn’t end in screaming and insults and probably having to find a new actor on _tech week_ of all times. Finding someone new was possible, but such a painful idea that it actually was worse to think about that thinking of what could happen to Michael. Zero stood up, intent on walking back to the booth and going over her notes. It was Five’s hand slipping into her own free hand that stopped her. “Wait,” said Five.

Five’s hand was surprisingly soft. “I’m waiting,” said Zero, her voice sounding short and clipped even to her.

“I’ve only seen you like this once before, Zero. Is it about Michael?”

“Don’t.”

“It is.” Five paused. “He wasn’t just a director, was he? Were you dating?”

Zero snorted. “He’s not my type. No. We went to college together. We take care of each other since his wife left him and everyone figured out I’m too much of a bitch to get anything more than a one night stand.” She had meant to self-deprecate in a fun way, but it came out sounding pathetic and kind of miserable. “I mean, it’s fine by me,” she tacked on. “Better than having to spend the rest of my life with some stupid moron asshole or something. Or worse, an actor.”

Five giggled and released Zero’s hand. “Don’t knock actors until you try one on for size. We’re notably good performers.”

“That’s the worst fucking pun I’ve ever heard.” Five laughed at that, for some reason. “What?” demanded Zero.

“The worst _fucking pun._ ”

“What? What do you- oh. Shut up.”

“I’ve never been good at being quiet. It does help for shows where we don’t have microphones, but I won’t pretend it hasn’t gotten me into trouble before. I’m pretty used to a little bit of punishment.” With a wink, Five stood up. She had an actor’s grace and confidence in her movement, and an actor’s lack of personal space. She and Zero stood across from each other, easily within touching distance, their eyes meeting. Zero tried to read Five’s expression. Part of her was genuine, or so Zero guessed. She really was an absolutely horny mess. Yet there was sympathy there too. 

“Why did you follow me out here?” Zero asked. “Or did you just end up here on your own and decided that tormenting your boss was the best possible idea your tiny slut brain could come up with?”

The blonde woman tossed her hair- it wasn’t an annoying or even flamboyant toss, but the shiny strands caught the sunlight and even seemed to become it. Zero’s eyes lingered involuntarily on that hair, long and silky and begging to be touched, a beg that Zero would deny. “Have you considered that not everything I do is specifically to annoy you?”

“It isn’t?”

“Only fifty percent of it. You’re fun to tease, darling.”

“You won’t think that if I fire you.”

Five leaned closer. “Don’t be silly. We both know I’m the best actress you’ve got. You’ll never find another me.”

“God, I hope not. If there were two of you, I think I’d barf.”

“So mean! Lucky for you, that’s how I like my women.”

“So if I’m nice to you, you’ll back the fuck off?”

“No,” said Five, leaning even closer. She was almost nose to nose with Zero once again, their eyes level. Zero took in the light hazel eyes, the delicate bridge of her nose, the tiny blonde braid that was positioned like a tilted, falling crown. The part of Zero that was a good stage manager, always counting forward to the next day, noted that tomorrow that hair would be hidden away in a wig, that soft skin covered by the work of the costumers. “No,” Five repeated, “I won’t back off. I’ll think that you started to want me around.”

“I’ve always said actors are smarter when they don’t try to think.”

Laughing another soft little laugh, Five set her fingers gently on Zero’s cheek. Her hands were just as soft as Zero had expected. “Nobody ever said I was smart,” she said, her thumb doing a slow little circle on Zero’s chin and her face closer than ever.

For a moment, Zero was still, wondering if Five would kiss her again. Wondering, too, why she was waiting so long to find out.

Five smiled a closed mouth smile, her eyes full of some unreadable emotion. 

And she put her hand down, pulling away and taking two quick steps backwards. “You really are trying to be nice to me, aren’t you? I’m a bit surprised! I always pegged you for the more straightforward kind of woman, Zero. Don’t worry, dear stage manager- you won’t catch me breaking your rules.”

“What rules?”

“No showmance, remember? I’m afraid I’m terribly romantic but I’d never dream of crossing that line.” Why did that shitty grin feel like a punch in Zero’s gut. “Well, now that I’ve done what I came out here to do-”

“Annoy me?”

“Specifically, stop you from spending your entire break moping, but yes. Now that I’ve done that, I have about ten minutes of break left, and I believed you said something about us being allowed to use drugs? Tressa was kind enough to give me some garden samples the other day.” ( _“_ Tressa?” “Three, darling Zero.”) “I was going to save it as a reward for after the show, but-”

Zero didn’t take the time to process the little fact that Five had followed her outside with the intent to babysit her. “Rule nine,” she said in a voice that was practically a growl. “No fucking illegal substances on the clock. If you have a bad trip on stage, it’s my ass that looks bad. Know when I’m exaggerating, dummy.”

“Fine, fine,” said Five, waving a hand dismissively as she walked off. From behind, Zero could see that her confident way of moving had a way of highlighting her especially perky ass and- _Fuck. I came out here to be sad, not horny for some dumb idiot actor who I hate._ Yet her attitude had shifted. Whatever Five else had done, she _had_ managed to distract Zero in the process.

Zero looked down at her phone, which was still devoid of any phone calls, but all that meant was that nothing was going especially poorly. “One week of tech, and then we start our run,” she said to the phone, as though it were the very person she missed. “And you’re going to be there. Opening night, you’re going to be there.”

* * *

There was no horrible call telling Zero that she was a mourner, a mother, alone.

The call, which came exactly half an hour after the end of the first day of tech, said that Michael was awake.

She rushed to the hospital and found Michael was actually asleep, but it was the natural sort of sleep she recognized from catching him napping on the green room couch, or from his stays in her guest room as the divorce finalized. 

There was a recliner next to his bed, and on it there was a decorative throw pillow and blanket- Mikhail probably brought them on one of the visits Gabriella went with him on. The kid was probably trying to make the room comfortable for his father, but now it was Zero who would reap the benefits. She texted Gabriella, asking her to look after Mikhail for the night. Then, she reclined the chair, wrapped the cold and uncomfortable blanket around her, and went to sleep.

* * *

Tech was smooth, now that Michael was awake. She had thought perhaps that his slow healing process would take up much of her mind, leaving her distracted during the day. Instead, the opposite was true. Her good mood was like a shot of caffeine injected directly into her skull. Even when problems arose, her mind met them. She _had_ to be on her game. Michael was awake, and his standards were the only standards higher than her own.

Nothing could bring her down. Her days were spent at the theatre; her nights, talking to Michael, who had finally managed to stay awake to see her by day three. Day four had Mikhail tagging along, almost ripping an IV out of Michael’s arm with how eagerly he hugged his father. Day five, Mikhail sat in the corner with a coloring book and the widest grin while Zero and Michael pored over the cue book and Zero told him almost everything that went on. The issues- how had she missed the way the red light turned an important and yellow act II costume a sickly shade of orange? The triumphs- the sound designer had really come through on finding an appropriate sound to stand in for the crushing of someone’s head. The strange- it was the final week of rehearsals and yet nobody could decide on if the puppet was a prop, a set piece, or a costume, and if Zero had to hear one more fight about it she was going to make her designers rip it into three parts and share it.

“And the actors?”

“They’re something.”

“That’s very unspecific.” 

Zero tried to laugh it off. “You know what they say about actors.”

“There’d be a much better view of the stage without them.”

“Yeah. I mean, they’re okay. The show’s performable. And nobody died.”

“Because they didn’t break your rules, or because you’re forgiving them for it?” asked Michael, propping himself up a little more with his pillows and folding his hands over the thin hospital sheets that covered him.

_No showmance, remember?_

“They’re not breaking the rules,” said Zero. 

* * *

Michael did not, could not, come to opening night. He wasn’t even going to be released for at least another five days. For him to then be able to go places beside his home would take another length of time. “I’m sorry, Zero,” he said, and to his credit he sounded truly apologetic, “but I don’t even know if I’ll make it to the final night.”

“It’s your own show!” she argued back childishly, like she didn’t know he was making complete sense. 

“It’s not. It’s yours.”

She couldn’t argue that one. Mostly because he wouldn’t let her.

Directors did not typically have to come to their shows when they began their run, but Michael had always liked to, just to see what the audience saw. Zero had a different reason. She was not just the director, she was the stage manager, and she had a place there. That place was dressed in all black and barking orders like a gothy drill sergeant. “Fifteen to house, forty-five to places,” she snapped as she walked through the green room that first night. “If you have neglected to warm up, you better believe I don’t notice it. And if I catch any one of you eating in costume, your entrails are going to the designer for use as lace in his next assignment.”

“Kinky,” said Five, lounging on the green room couch and seemingly unbothered.

Zero snapped her head towards Five. “You seriously have to have something better to do than relaxing. Makeup?”

“Done, of course. Do you think I’m this pretty naturally?”

 _I’m not answering that one._ “You want me to believe you warmed up? That you’re completely ready?”

“I can show you just how warm I am, if you’d like.”

“I’ll pass. Just… just be on stage when you’re supposed to be. I’ve got the ASM keeping an eye on you.”

“Cent isn’t going to keep an eye on anyone but Duri and we both know it.”

She could feel the blankness of her mind creep onto her face. “Duri?”

“Two,” corrected Five, and her smile quirked up slightly on one side. “You might have a couple of rulebreakers on your hands if you aren’t careful, my sweet stage manager. So anyway, do you not know my name either?”

“I do!” Zero lied, unsure why she felt suddenly so defensive, especially when Five would probably just ask her to prove it right there.

But Five didn’t. She just kept smiling. 

Scowling, Zero crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m going up to the booth. I’ll talk to Cent about… uh, Duri. Don’t fuck up out there.”

“Not going to tell me to break a leg?”

“If you were going to break one of your legs, it’d probably be while attempting some wack stunt in the bedroom. I figure you’re a lost cause. Don’t ruin the show, that’s the most I’ll bother asking for.” _God. I thought into that too much, didn’t I? It’s just an expression, I don’t have to make it a sex thing. Even if it probably is for her._ Zero bit her tongue and tried not to go red in the face.

Five just chuckled. “Well, have fun up there.”

The response Zero gave was just to leave the green room before she could make an even bigger fool of herself, hoping as she walked away that this would be the most embarrassing moment of the evening.

Before going upstairs to the booth, she swiped a program from the front of house manager. As she sat at her station waiting to call cues, she flicked through it until she came to the page for biographies, specifically the headshot of a bosomy blonde bombshell. She ran one finger over the tight paragraph about the actor and her achievements, filed the information away for later, and then she ran her show.

* * *

There was no standing ovation at the end of the performance, but there didn’t have to be. Those unfamiliar with the business seemed to think a standing ovation was for every show that was halfway decent, but she had an audience full of experienced theatregoers, half of whom were likely friends of Michael and the other half probably being relatives of the actors. They did not stand at the end; the show changed no one’s life, except perhaps for Zero’s. 

She went downstairs and walked unseen behind the actors and their families. All of them had bouquets in hand and Five was signing someone’s program as though it were Broadway and not some shitty mid-sized city that wasn’t particularly well known for the arts. Zero snorted and opened the discreet door that led backstage, pausing when she saw Five waving. No… when she saw Five waving her over. She shot Five a withering look- _I have a job to do, dummy, just because your night is over doesn’t mean I’m free yet. First to get here, last to leave._

And so, she went backstage and swept the floor, hung the costumes, sprayed copious amounts of Lysol on pretty much everything, and turned out the lights, sparing only the final ghost light. One last glance told her she was the last one out of the theatre, and she finally decided to leave. 

“You ignored me earlier,” said Five, stepping out of the shadows and practically giving Zero a heart attack. Zero pressed her prosthetic hand against her chest and turned a budding scream into an annoyed growl. “I had something important to say to you.”

“You’ve got my goddamn phone number, why are you standing in the shadows like some wackjob?” demanded Zero.

“I thought I’d be more persuasive in person.”

“What are you-”

Five took Zero’s hands in her own. “Come to the cast party with me. We’ll be half an hour late or so, but it’s okay. It’ll be fun.”

 _Yes,_ Zero wanted to say, but it was too easy. “Are you asking me out?”

“I suppose I am,” said Five, smiling slightly.

“What part of ‘no showmance’ can’t you get through your hollow head?”

“It’s not showmance when it’s off the clock.”

“It’s a showmance until the final performance is done.”

“Then I’m asking you as a friend.” 

“I’m not your friend.”

“And why’s that?”

“I’m your boss, idiot.”

“And Michael was yours, but he’s also your friend. Come to the party with me. Get to know me. The show won’t last forever.”

_The show won’t last forever. This dynamic won’t last forever. Seeing her every day won’t last forever._

“I have to get home to get the kid from the babysitter, and I should stop by the hospital and see Michael and-”

Five was still smiling but there was a flicker of something- disappointment? what the fuck- in her eyes. “So you have to plan to go places. Then let’s make a plan.”

“Why?”

“I’m very pushy and I want to know what you’re like when you’re not my dear stage manager. I mean, you’ll always be my dear stage manager, but you could be something else too.”

“Yeah? What.”

“Depends on what you want. I’ll see you for dinner after the last performance, okay?”

Zero lifted her hands, shrugging as much as she could with Five still holding them. “Fine. If it gets you off my case.” 

“It won’t, but it’s worth doing it anyway. So, it’s a date?”

“Just one more question.”

“Mmm?”

“Are you one of those overly touchy actors who kisses everyone, or am I just special?”

Five smiled. “Oh, I’m sure you can find out.” She let go of Zero’s hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, dear stage manager.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow… Quinn.”

The busty woman smiled a lot. But Zero had never seen her smile quite so beautifully.

* * *

On the last night of the show, there was one person who stood, clapping longer than anyone else in the audience. It was probably awkward for Michael to manage holding his cane and clapping while standing, all at the same time, but he didn’t seem to show it. Zero looked down from the booth and knew that while he clapped for everyone, he was especially clapping for her.

Mikhail, too young to see the show, was staying up late at Gabriella’s house and waiting for Michael’s return. Below Zero, the crew was already ushering patrons away and clearing trash from the aisles. She’d have to go join them soon, but it wasn’t a crime to sit and bask in the show’s completion. Well, not counting breaking down the set and post mortem, at least.

She finally made her way downstairs and found Duri, Tressa, Una, and Ivy in the lobby talking to people. Quinn was nowhere to be found, which was strange, but Zero knew by now that she’d pop up in the shadows when it was time to go.

Only it was earlier- she was in the dressing room, applying makeup. “Why,” asked Zero flatly.

“I have to look good for this.”

“Don’t waste your time. You and I both know that you’re ridiculously stunning and people want to be you or whatever. I’d rather you’re just your normal infuriating self.”

“Who said I was dressing up for you?” Quinn winked, or maybe she was just doing something with her eye makeup, Zero wasn’t really sure.

“Fine. I’m going to sweep, and then I’ll talk to Michael. You better be ready when I’m done.”

“Or what?”

“Don’t you remember? Third rule- you’re late, you die.”

Quinn snorted. “I won’t be late. I’ll see you soon.”

“Sure,” said Zero.

As she walked backstage, she did not dwell on the positives of the evening. It wasn’t her thing to dwell on the positives. But she did offer a little nod to the ghost light, as though it had something to do with everything working out kind of okay at the end. Maybe better than okay. It depended on how the rest of the night went.

With only one lamp casting shadows around the house, Zero left the show behind her, at least until tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I have to admit, writing an au in my own career field? a BLAST. that said, if you're a theatre person too you may have noticed I took a few liberties; please forgive me for them! also forgive me for all the actor jokes. like zero, I prefer tech, but unlike zero I'm a classically trained actor as well and I am aware of and appreciate the skill and dedication it takes to be in a show. love an actor, especially one who knows their lines by the time we're off book.
> 
> anyway thanks so much for reading this little one shot; I'll hopefully see you soon for a new chapter of "armor!"


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